Steady Now
by balladofbliss
Summary: "'Do you remember anything about what happened? ' She sighed. 'I wish I did.'" Sam and Andy are about to be tested. Set sometime in the not-too-distant future. Now complete.
1. Chapter 1

Thank you for the great response to Stronger. I'm new to the world of RB fanfiction, and I'm excited to see where the characters I love end up, in imagination if not canon. This one's heading in a pretty angsty direction, so be forewarned if that's not your thing.

Disclaimer: I don't own Rookie Blue. Lyrics are from Next to Normal; I don't own that either.

* * *

_I imagine it's remarkable_

_Exuberant, austere_

_Wish I were here_

* * *

_That's not my alarm clock_, Andy thought absently as she became aware of the light floating through her closed eyelids. The beeping that had stirred her from sleep was indeed faster and lower-pitched than the tones to which she was accustomed each morning. _Less annoying, too_, she pondered. She reached out to silence the unfamiliar sound, but instead of feeling the smooth plastic of the snooze button beneath her fingers, her hand met something bulky. She forced herself to open her eyes and focus on the object in question. _A bed rail. Wait, what?_ Lifting her head seemed insurmountable, so she slowly turned her gaze from side to side, taking in her immediate surroundings. The mystery beeps were coming from a screen mounted on the wall; after a moment of watching rhythmic lines cross the display, she recognized it as a cardiac monitor. An IV bag filled with clear fluid hung on a pole beside the bed, dripping into a line that led to her forearm. _Okay, so that's… there._ (Needles hadn't ever been her favorite.)

She turned her concentration to everything else she could feel, her left hand exploring gingerly. Plastic prongs were blowing air up her nose. Her watch was gone, replaced with a scratchy laminated-paper band. She rotated her arm this way and that to read it: bar codes, strings of numbers, her last-then-first name. _None of this makes sense_, she thought with frustration. _Chris and I responded to that domestic disturbance, and… how did "you take the left, I'll go right" end up here?_

Her throat felt like someone had coated it in sandpaper and then set it ablaze. She attempted to cough, only to feel a sharp pain along the right side of her chest. "Ow," she whimpered, her voice sounding alien to her.

Something stirred just then near her feet, and she craned her neck down to see what was happening without having to move more than necessary. Sam was in a chair perpendicular to the end of the bed, his head resting on extended arms along the edge of the mattress. He sat up and immediately looked toward her face, his eyes widening when he saw that hers were open.

"Hey, you," he said with a soft smile as he scooted the chair closer to her and reached for her hand. The just-off-undercover stubble and dark circles beneath his eyes led Andy to wonder exactly how much time had passed between her last recollection and the present moment. "Welcome back."

"Thanks." She nodded slowly. "Why does it feel like Sasquatch is pinching me in the ribs?"

Sam chuckled briefly as his fingers intertwined with hers. "Well, you got a couple of them broken, and then one punched a hole in your lung. Rib, not Sasquatch." His expression faded into one more solemn. "Do you remember anything about what happened?"

She sighed. "I wish I did." Her free hand inched toward her aching thorax until it found something protruding from her side. She looked up at Sam with alarm. "What the-"

"Chest tube," he replied evenly, putting on his patented 'I promise everything is fine' face. Andy immediately recognized it as the look that had coaxed countless terrified victims out of hiding places. _Is that what I am?_ "It's helping get your lung reinflated. Nothing to worry about."

Andy leaned her head back against the pillow, her discomfort and worry becoming more difficult to ignore with each passing second. "How is this nothing to worry about?"

Sam knew she wasn't talking about her injuries. He looked at her with concern and what she swore was a fleeting remnant of guilt. "You've been pretty out of it for more than a day, Andy. We'll figure out whatever's missing. Wait, hang on a second." He fumbled in the sheet until he grasped an oversized remote control, pressing a red button near the top. "The nurse has been checking in on you every couple of hours. She told me to let her know when you woke up."

A young woman in burgundy scrubs appeared in the doorway less than a minute later. "Hi, Ms. McNally. I'm not sure you remember me from earlier, but I'm Laurie, your nurse for this evening. How are you feeling?"

Andy contemplated her response. _I just woke up in the hospital with no recollection of the last 30 hours, so… fantastic, obviously_. Nah, Andy knew too much about getting attitude for things beyond her control. It wasn't this woman's fault. She took as deep a breath as she could muster. "Like Sasquatch is pinching me in the ribs," she eventually replied, flatly.

Laurie approached the side of the bed not occupied by Sam. "Yeah, I believe it," she responded with a sympathetic grimace. "Do you want to try some pain medication?"

"I'm fine," Andy responded quickly, her rote answer emerging from her mouth of its own volition.

Sam lifted his head and fixed her with a dubious expression. "Wrong answer, McNally. Try again."

_Okay, now he's starting to tick me off_. She had half a mind to ask him to step out of the room for a second – maybe Laurie knew something more about what had happened to her than Sam was telling – but she hesitated when she saw his face soften into something that almost looked like pleading. _Damn it. _ "Okay, yeah, probably a good idea."

Laurie nodded. "I'll be right back." She held up a Styrofoam cup with a straw that Andy hadn't noticed her carrying when she entered the room. "I brought you some ice water in the meantime."

She guided the straw toward Andy's cracked lips. Andy took a tentative sip, letting out a small sound of relief as she felt the water quell the inferno in her throat, and proceeded to down half the cup. "Thank you," she murmured.

Laurie placed the cup on the table beside the bed. "Of course. I'll be back in a minute with some morphine for you."

Andy protested after her retreating form, "Oh, no – I just meant some Motrin or…" She trailed off when she saw the wrong-answer-McNally look return to Sam's face. "What?"

He exhaled slowly before speaking. "I know you're trying to think five steps ahead of me right now. How eventually I'll have to leave this room, and then you can just sneak out of here and go retrace your steps from patrol." He brought his hand to her face, lightly stroking her cheek with his thumb. "This isn't something you can slap a Band-Aid on, Andy. It's gonna take time."

_I hate it when he's right. _"Time sucks," she couldn't help retorting.

Sam's fingers moved down to her jaw, directed her chin up until their eyes met. "Not when you have plenty of it."

A flash of burgundy redirected Andy's attention to the front of the room. Laurie glanced at Andy's wristband, then swabbed a small port on the IV line with an alcohol pad before screwing a syringe into it and slowly depressed the plunger. "Five milligrams of morphine. This should start working in a little bit, but since you're awake now, I'm just going to check you out real quick."

For the next several minutes, Andy tried to disregard the nagging questions that lingered in her mind as Laurie flashed a penlight in her eyes and held a stethoscope to her chest. She raised her arms – which didn't feel all that great – and wiggled her toes upon the nurse's request. Laurie briefly explained how the chest tube worked, and assured her that it would probably be able to come out in the next few days. She then fiddled with a small box on the IV pole, handing Andy what looked like a small joystick attached to a cord.

"You can press that button whenever the pain comes back, and it'll give you another dose of morphine." Laurie briefly looked at Sam. "No one except the patient pushes the button."

Sam glanced up at the nurse innocently. "I have no idea what brought that on."

Laurie smiled at both of them. "Let me know if you need anything. I'll look in on you in a little while." She exited.

Andy felt a small smirk beginning to creep across her face just then, for some unidentifiable reason. The questions that had badgered her since she woke up became fuzzy, pixellated across her mind's eye, and she finally allowed herself to relinquish them. It had just occurred to her that was something hilarious about all of this.

"Sam?"

His head snapped up. "Yeah?" _Uh-oh_, he thought, recognizing the faraway look in her eyes as an unintended effect of the morphine and knowing anything in the world could come out of her mouth.

She composed her next words as carefully as she could, as coherent thought was starting to prove considerably difficult. "If I've been out of it for the last day and a half…" She pursed her lips in contemplation. "How did I pee?"

Sam blinked hard. "How did you…" He burst out laughing in spite of himself.

Andy, now giggling involuntarily, protested, "No, I'm serious."

Sam bit his lip to help maintain his composure. "Catheter."

"What?"

"Yep." He nodded matter-of-factly. "You're peeing in a bag."

Andy's expression turned to one of vague horror. "In _front _of you? That's gross."

Sam started laughing again. "Hey, maybe they'll let you keep it when you go home. Think of all the time you'll save on bathroom breaks during those cooking-competition marathons."

Andy swatted at his arm halfheartedly, her chuckles becoming louder. "Stop." She suddenly winced, her face contorting in pain. "Ugh, don't make me laugh."

Sam was immediately serious, his hand on her arm. "I'm sorry." He reached up to stroke her hair. "Push the button, Andy," he said softly.

She made a face as if she were going to argue, but didn't. Instead, she pressed the small button with her thumb, which resulted in three short beeps from the machine, and closed her eyes with a sigh.

Sam rose from his chair briefly to brush his lips over her forehead. "Sleep well," he whispered.

Andy tried to tell him that she wasn't really tired, but a blanket of exhaustion spread across her before she could get the words out. As she drifted off, her thoughts came like waves that didn't quite reach the shoreline. _We'll figure out whatever's missing. In good time. Sure._


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I still own nothing.

* * *

_The memories will wane_

_The aftershocks remain_

_You wonder which is worse, the symptom or the cure_

* * *

Sam waited until she was breathing evenly and her heart rate had slowed on the monitor before slipping out of the room. He wandered down the hall to the waiting area, which had been packed with blue uniforms earlier in the day. Since the end of general visiting hours, the room had been quiet, the lights dimmed.

Technically, they should have kicked him out at eight as well, but he had made it abundantly clear from the moment he'd come tearing through the hospital's sliding doors that he wouldn't be going anywhere, and the staff didn't argue. He liked to think it was due to the badge and glower he flashed at everyone who mentioned leaving to him, but realized it probably had more to do with Andy having listed him as her designated decision maker on the health care directive Frank had made them all complete a few months back. _I hope it doesn't feel weird or morbid_, she'd told him as she pored over the form. _I just don't trust anyone else nearly as much._

He'd smiled and leaned over to kiss her, telling her they'd probably never even need to use the stupid things. _So much for that_, he thought now.

He surveyed the vending machines in the corner; the selection wasn't great, but neither was his appetite. He eventually fed a few coins into the coffee machine and removed the steaming paper cup a few moments later. He grimaced after the first sip, wondering if it were really possible to produce coffee that bad or if the machine had just been accidentally hooked up to the sewer system. Abandoning the cup in the nearest trashcan, Sam took a seat and leaned his head back against the wall, eyes on the ceiling.

* * *

She probably wouldn't have been riding with Diaz in the first place if he hadn't had court yesterday morning. Well, it was _supposed_ to be yesterday morning. He had dragged himself out of bed shortly after sunrise, reluctant to extricate his arms from Andy's sleeping form. The best route to the courthouse normally held abominable traffic from dawn until noon, though, and it wasn't all that smart to risk being late. He showered and shaved quickly, made a pot of coffee and left the burner on for Andy; she'd likely be getting up shortly after he hit the road. The note he'd scribbled and placed on the kitchen counter asked her to call him on her lunch break, so he could meet up with her. He was sure he'd be finished and heading back to the beat by then.

Of course, it hadn't worked out that way. The case kept getting pushed back until later in the morning, and despite the prosecutor's assurances that they were first on the docket after lunch, the afternoon had dragged on without a word from the court clerk. The cherry on the crap sundae that was his day came when he realized that he'd forgotten to charge his cell the night before, and the battery had died shortly following his arrival at the courthouse. Finally, when Sam had been about to ask the prosecutor if it would maybe make more sense to reschedule, the case was called. By the time his testimony was completed, it was nearing four o'clock. He'd figured he could probably get down to the station in time to give Andy a ride home, if nothing else.

He'd pulled up to 15 around half past four (because why wouldn't there be traffic today?), entering through the sally port. Jerry stood in the hall, his eyes glued to the cell phone in his hand.

"Listen, buddy, I don't know what you're doing over there, but I hope you're keeping that 'inappropriate use of social media' talk in mind."

Instead of the easy smile and rolling eyes with which expected his friend to respond, Jerry looked at Sam incredulously. "Where have you been, man?"

Sam raised his eyebrows. "Court, all day."

"You don't answer phone calls?"

"Battery's dead. What's the…"

"Listen." Jerry pulled him toward the wall and took a deep breath. "As little as I want to be the one to tell you this… it's McNally."

Sam tensed as the edges of his vision began wavering. He heard snippets of what Jerry was trying to tell him: Diaz, call, backup, hospital. He turned back toward the door, fully prepared to sprint or fly or fucking teleport to wherever she was, when the feeling of Jerry's hand on his shoulder interrupted the overwhelming fight-or-flight mindset in which he found himself.

"Give me your keys," Jerry ordered.

"Jerry, don't fuck around with me right now. I've gotta go."

"Give me your keys," he repeated insistently. "You drive right now, you'll end up wrapped around a tree. I'll take you to General and catch a ride back here with Traci later."

Sam impatiently dug in his cargo pocket, dropping the key ring into Jerry's outstretched hand.

The ride to General was relatively quick and mercifully quiet. Jerry let him out close to the main entrance before he went off to park. Sam bolted into the lobby, then stopped in his tracks just as suddenly; this place was huge, and he had no idea where she was. How she was. Whether she was… _Can't go there_, he chided himself shortly before panic began to grip him once more.

"Sammy!" His head flew in the direction of the voice, and he was semi-relieved to see Oliver jogging toward him. "Come on, man. She's in ICU."

"Is she…"

"All they'll tell us is 'stable.' Let's go." Oliver turned and briskly began walking toward the elevator bank, Sam close behind.

They were the only people on the elevator; Sam broke the silence as they passed the second floor. "When?"

"They responded to the call from dispatch about 11:15." Oliver paused for a second. "Backup found her a little after 3."

_Almost four hours? _The elevator doors opened before Sam's head could fill with every horrific thing he'd seen since his first day on the force. He followed Oliver down the hall, dead set on seeing what 'stable' looked like for himself.

As they slowed in front of a patient room, a nurse emerged and glared at Oliver. "Officer, I'm sorry, but I already told you. Until next of kin arrives…"

Oliver lightly shoved Sam forward. "He's here."

She hesitated, then motioned to Sam. "You can go in. I'll get the doctor for you."

Sam crossed the threshold and approached the bed. It took a solid five minutes of watching her chest rise and fall before his apprehension started to dissipate. He placed his hands on the side rail and continued his inspection. Lacerations above her eye and lip. A bruise beginning to form along her left cheekbone. Gauze lightly covering one collarbone. He gingerly lifted one edge to reveal three angry-looking circular marks. _Cigarette burns. Christ._ He closed his eyes and held the side rail in a white-knuckle grip; it was the only thing likely to keep him from punching the wall.

"Hi, I'm Dr. Miller, one of the resident trauma surgeons here."

Sam looked up, took in a tall guy in a lab coat. "Sam Swarek."

"You're Ms. McNally's next of kin, yes?"

He nodded. "Yeah, I'm her partner. And her… we're together." Since the start of their relationship, the boyfriend/girlfriend terminology hadn't sat particularly well with either of them. He'd had girlfriends before; the word in no way encompassed what it was to have _her_. "What happened?"

The doctor took a few steps toward Sam. "It's impossible to know without having been there, but it looks like she was beaten up pretty badly." He went on to describe her injuries, both those Sam had already noted and the ones concealed by the sheet. The bruises and burns apparently extended across her midsection, and her right knee was fairly swollen, although the scan hadn't shown any damage to it. "We're keeping her sedated for now, to give that lung a little time to recover." Dr. Miller paused and pushed his glasses up higher on the bridge of his nose. "Look, I was called down to Emergency when they brought her in. Her vest was slashed, shirt ripped – that was how the paramedics found her. She's young and she should heal fast, but… I wouldn't be surprised if her worst injuries aren't physical in nature."

Sam cringed. "Yeah." Knowing he needed to hear it didn't prevent the words from colliding with his sternum like a bus with the brakes cut. He loved and respected who she was as a cop, and knew that she understood the risks of the job as well as he did, but it didn't stop him from wanting to tear apart with his bare hands anyone who so much as looked at her funny. Her resilience had always left him in quiet awe, and the thought of cracks in her veneer rendering her fragile – how much _she'd_ hate that – left him reeling.

"Just something to look out for. We're here if you have any questions, all right?" Dr. Miller extended his hand to Sam.

"Thanks," Sam responded. As the doctor left the room, Sam sank down into the chair behind him, resting his chin on clasped hands. He remained motionless for what had to have been close to an hour until he heard strains of an argument near the doorway.

"You let him in already, so can I please just go and talk to him?"

"You'll need his permission, Officer."

Sam blinked and looked toward the door, where Shaw stood beside the same nurse they'd spoken with earlier.

Oliver let out an exaggerated sigh. "Sammy, Nurse Ratched and I would like to know if you'll allow me to come in."

Sam shrugged, his eyes returning to Andy. "Yeah, fine."

Oliver shot a smug grin at the nurse, who rolled her eyes at him before walking away. "So?"

Sam looked down at his lap briefly before speaking. "Collapsed lung, broken ribs, generally got the crap kicked out of her. She'll be okay." He knew he'd said the latter as much to reassure himself as to inform Oliver; unfortunately, it wasn't much of a reassurance when he couldn't be entirely sure he believed it.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw Oliver nodding. "That's good. I mean, not _good_, but… I'll let everyone in the waiting room know." Oliver took a few steps toward Sam and held up a small duffel and a paper bag printed with a deli logo. "So remember how I never gave you that key back after your last time undercover?"

Sam looked up. "That was over a year ago, so… not really."

"Well, I didn't," Oliver shrugged. "I just swung by yours real quick and grabbed you a change of clothes. I know you're not likely to be going home anytime soon, figured you'd want something a little more comfortable than a uniform."

"Thanks, man," Sam responded quietly. "What's the other thing?"

"Dinner. Smoked turkey, provolone, spicy mustard. Your favorite."

"Not hungry."

"Too bad," Oliver snapped. "You're eating."

"Nope."

"How exactly does you starving yourself help her?"

At that, Sam looked up at his best friend fiercely. "So I just keep going like everything's fine, and that's it?"

Oliver dropped a hand on his shoulder. "Well… yeah. I mean, it's not like you're going out and having fun while she's stuck here. It's a sandwich, Sam. If she wakes up and finds you unconscious from hunger, you know she's gonna be pissed."

The only sound for the next few minutes was the beeping of the monitors. Sam eventually inhaled audibly. "Anyway, that's not my favorite."

Oliver felt a tiny smile of relief tug at the corners of his mouth. "My friend, I have watched you order this very sandwich more times than Methuselah has celebrated birthdays."

Sam looked up at him with a shadow of a smirk. "Rye bread?"

"Is there any other kind? Go get changed, I'll sit with her until you come back."

Sam rose, his knees stiff from remaining motionless for an extended period of time. "Thanks, Ollie."

"No worries, brother. Oh, and there's a coffee in there too."

"Should've led with that," Sam said as he stepped toward the door.

* * *

The recent memories, far too vivid for Sam's liking, gave way to the present of the darkened waiting area. _That is one ugly ceiling_. He understood that hospitals treated sick people, but was it necessary to establish constant reminders of that by painting everything the color of puke? He shook his head and stood slowly. It was after midnight; she'd probably be out until the morning. He briefly considered going home to catch a few hours' sleep, but quickly decided against it. If she woke up again – if she remembered something about what happened – she shouldn't be alone. Besides, he knew he'd just get there and stare at the ceiling some more. _If that's all I'm going to do, I might as well save on gas_.

Waiting for her to remember was probably going to be the worst part of this, he reasoned as he slowly made his way back down the hall. He would rather shove a pencil through his eye than see her suffer, but at least he'd know then what the obstacles were, have something concrete to work with. They had defeated plenty of monsters before; there was no reason this should be all that different. Not knowing how formidable this particular monster was going to be, however, or when it would choose to make itself known… he tried to shake off the internal shudder that passed through him like an electric shock.

He stood in the doorway of Andy's room, unable to withstand chuckling when he saw her position in the bed. Despite the encumbrances that surrounded and invaded her, she had managed to flip herself nearly onto her stomach, the sheet twisted up around her legs. Having woken up to find her foot in his face more than once, Sam was more than familiar with her slumber acrobatics, and felt a small tug of hope that somehow this meant she wouldn't end up being that far removed from herself after all. He smoothed the sheet over her body, attempting to ignore the bulky black brace that covered her knee, and reoccupied his previous seat. _When all this is over, I'm making a personal donation to the hospital so they can buy some comfortable fucking chairs._ He rested his arms on the edge of the bed, let his head drop down to meet them. He listened to her breathe steadily, the cadence soothing him until he could no longer keep his eyes open.


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you so much for the great reviews. The flashback near the beginning of this chapter might seem a little tangential, but hopefully it'll establish what the relationship looked like before this incident.

Also, a quick note about the timeline: the Brennan op was about a year and a half before the start of the story, so they've been together for a year and change. There may be some tweaks to canon (up to 3x03) later, but all will be revealed in due time. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Still own nothing.

* * *

_I will keep the plates all spinning_

_With a smile so white and winning all the way_

'_Cause what doesn't kill me doesn't kill me_

_So fill me up for just another day_

* * *

Sam walked into the house, morning sunlight streaming in through the door behind him. Nash had arrived at the hospital shortly after the day-shift nurses, armed with magazines, nail polish, and diner takeout. ("I know there's no chance of you eating whatever they gave you," she'd said to Andy, eyeing the breakfast tray suspiciously. "I mean, grape yogurt?") He'd kissed Andy gently and told her he'd be back in a few hours, promising that he'd at least try to take a nap.

He looked around the living room, which was considerably tidier than he recalled it being two days ago. He doubted Andy had had time to clean up before her shift, and was trying to remember if maybe it just hadn't been as bad as he'd thought… then shook his head with a grin as the realization set in. _Oliver._ The clothes Andy had tossed on the back of the couch with the intention of washing at some point were neatly folded and stacked on the coffee table. Sam's grin faded slightly as he noticed a slip of emerald fabric sticking out. How long had it been since that day? The better part of a year, at least. He wondered momentarily if he'd ever feel like that again, whole and carefree, not sitting around waiting for the other shoe to drop. He couldn't even bring himself to consider if she would.

* * *

_She'd basically been living with him for months; he had plenty of space, a better kitchen, a more comfortable bed. At some point, he'd cleared a couple of bureau drawers and shoved his things to one side of the closet, but before long, her possessions started to multiply beyond the allotted space, and took up residence in laundry baskets along the bedroom wall. As he stepped out of the shower one morning, he heard her cursing on the other side of the door._

_Bewildered and amused at this uncharacteristically profane start to their day off, Sam called out, "Everything okay in there, McNally?"_

_The bathroom door edged open. "You decent?"_

_Sam smirked. "Not yet. You might want to get in here before you miss your opportunity."_

"_Why do I even ask?" she grumbled. Sam heard her stomping footsteps fade – no small feat on deep-pile carpet – and poked his head out into the bedroom. It was an absolute disaster: baskets upended, clothes and shoes strewn haphazardly onto every horizontal surface. In the midst of it was Andy in a bra and jeans, examining handfuls of material and tossing them over her shoulder when it became clear that the object of her search wasn't there. _

_Sam tucked his towel around his waist and emerged from the bathroom. "I recall nothing on the weather report about a tornado watch today."_

_Andy looked up at him impatiently, then sighed. "I can't find my green shirt. The one with the buttons and that silky stuff on the hem. I know it's here somewhere, just…" Her eyes suddenly went wide, and she lightly smacked her forehead with the palm of her hand. "Shit. No, it's not. It's at my place, because it was hanging on the curtain rod in the bathroom the last time I went over there to pay rent and stuff." She groaned and reached for what Sam supposed was an inferior shirt. "I'll walk over there and get it. I promise I'll clean all this up later."_

"_Let me get dressed," Sam said. "I'll drive."_

"_No, I really don't mind – "_

"_Yeah, I know," he interrupted, "but it's two and a half miles each way, and I'd actually like to spend some time with you today. So just sit tight."_

_As Andy walked around to the vehicle's passenger side ten minutes later, she noticed Sam rummaging around along the wall of the garage. He emerged with a hand truck and a roll of packing tape. _

_Andy pursed her lips. "Okay, I know I made a mess upstairs, but does that really justify you going all Silence of the Lambs on me?"_

_Sam laughed, placing the items in the truck bed. "Just get in."_

_When they reached her apartment complex, Sam followed her in, carrying the cart and tape. Andy was more than a little curious, but decided not to pursue it. The disuse of the place was obvious as soon as they opened the door; half an inch of dust covered much of the living room. Andy looked at Sam, who shrugged._

"_Go ahead, get what you want."_

_A minute later, she reentered the foyer, the sought-after shirt in hand._

_Sam lifted a skeptical eyebrow. "That's it?"_

"_Well, yeah." Andy met his eyes, confused._

_Sam shook his head as he walked past her into the bedroom. _

"_What are you…" Andy's steps halted as she reached the doorway. Sam was stretching packing tape vertically over the front of her dresser. Once he seemed certain that the drawers wouldn't slide out, he backed the hand truck over to the side and hiked the piece of furniture up to an angle. _

"_Let's go," he said nonchalantly._

"_Come on, Sam, what are you doing?"_

"_Trying not to drop this thing on my foot, McNally. Chop chop."_

_When they reached the parking lot, Andy helped Sam slide the dresser into the back of the truck. "So, are we done?"_

"_Nope. What else do you want?"_

_Back to the apartment they traipsed, hand truck in tow. Sam held his arms out to the dusty living room. "Seriously. Books, DVDs, artwork – let's do it."_

_Andy cocked her head in thought. "I like the recliner."_

_Sam paused for a second – he'd sort of been banking on the heavy-furniture portion of the day being over – but then began nodding emphatically. "Yes. The recliner, perfect. I think the couch has been lonely for a long time." _

_It took another two trips to transport everything Andy wanted to keep. They agreed to sell or get rid of the rest later in the week, when she went to the management office to break her lease. "Even if they charge me a penalty, it can't be as bad as paying for an empty place," she reasoned._

_The rest of the day was spent unpacking and sorting, and by dinnertime the house's interior was an amalgamation of their personalities. They ordered pizza, knowing full well that cooking wasn't about to happen. Andy answered the door and paid the delivery guy when it arrived; as she carried the box into the living room, she stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Sam collapsed on the recliner. _

"_That didn't take long," she mused as she placed the pizza on the coffee table._

_Sam mumbled, "I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."_

_Later that night, as she lied in bed curled up against his side, she spoke softly. "You're sure you're okay with this?"_

_Sam looked down at her, his arm around her bare shoulder tightening almost imperceptibly. "With what?"_

_Andy's hand closed into a loose fist where it rested on his chest. "Me, living here."_

"_You already did," he responded. "You just didn't have all your stuff."_

"_Yeah, but we never really talked about it, did we?"_

_Sam took a deep breath. "Here's the talk. I love you. I want you here. Since you didn't argue with me earlier today, I assume you want to be here." He paused, kissing the top of her head before continuing. "All I've wanted for a long time is to build a life with you. I don't think that needs to be some dramatic production."_

_He felt her smile against his neck. "I love you too," she murmured after a moment. _

* * *

There was no way he was going to get any sleep now; the few fitful hours he'd gained at the hospital would have to suffice. He showered and attempted to make himself semi-presentable before heading back out, this time to 15. He'd spoken with Frank the previous afternoon about taking personal leave for a week or so, which the staff sergeant had assured him shouldn't be a problem. "Just stop by tomorrow and get the paperwork done," Frank had advised.

Sam parked and walked in through the main entrance, making his way toward the back of the station. It sounded like parade was nearing its end, so he stood outside the door for a few moments until he heard Frank say, "Serve, protect, and Epstein, if little girls throw rocks at your head again today, duck." Sam snorted.

As officers began filtering out of the room, he found himself surrounded by people asking for updates on Andy. "She's hanging in there," he responded, sincerely thanking his coworkers for their concern. He was admittedly distracted by one colleague in particular, who'd quite conspicuously avoided his eye and had taken off in the opposite direction.

Sam jogged down the hall until he'd caught up, placing a hand on the younger cop's shoulder to turn him around. When Chris caught sight of who was requesting his attention, his eyes nearly popped out of his head and a terrified expression overtook his face. "Sir, I didn't – I didn't mean for anything to happen," he stammered. "Please, you have to understand I always have my partner's back, really I do, but just…"

"Diaz." Sam held up his hands. "Relax. You think I blame you for any of this?"

"I don't know. Do you?"

Sam sighed. "Not your fault, it could've been anyone. I'm just trying to put this all together here, so if you could tell me what went down during that call…?"

Chris nodded. "Right." After a minute, he began to speak. "It was a domestic, turned out to be a custody battle gone way bad. Three kids – eight, six, and five. The father barricaded them inside the house, and brought along his brother for help. The oldest one managed to call 911, but just said her parents were fighting and she was scared, so it sounded pretty run-of-the-mill when we responded to dispatch. These guys weren't messing around, though.

"We showed up at the house and Andy stopped me before we got to the porch. There was a wire stretched across the rails just above the top step; how she even saw it was beyond me. I don't know what would've happened if we'd tripped it, but… We decided to secure the perimeter and call for backup. I went left, she went right – and she never met me in the back lot. I called in, and things got crazy. Negotiators, ETF… it was a zoo. We kept trying to radio her, but got nothing. Finally, they went in to clear the house. Got the kids out, apprehended the two guys... Found her in the basement." Noting Sam slowly nod, Chris pressed on, "I don't really know anything beyond that, but if I did, or if I hear something or remember anything else…"

"Gotcha," Sam interrupted. "Look, thanks. Be safe out there today." He made his way back to the administrative offices to handle the bureaucratic part of his leave.

Diaz's story helped him establish the 'before'; Andy's injuries were obviously the 'after.' Only two people had any idea of what had happened in between, and Sam was fairly certain he'd end up convicted of murder if he tried to get answers out of either of the perps. He was back to square one: waiting for her to remember and praying it somehow wasn't as bad as he feared.

* * *

Andy hadn't been pleased when, upon waking up from sedation, the doctors told her to expect at least another week in the hospital. She loathed being stagnant on an uncomfortable mattress, a crappy TV on the wall her only distraction. At least once a day, a horde of physicians and medical students crammed themselves into the room like it was a clown car, then proceeded to stare at her as if she were on display in a museum and talk about her without actually speaking _to_ her. Visitors streamed in and out, but with most of them, conversation felt stilted. The last thing she wanted to do was talk about how she was feeling ad nauseum, and they usually seemed uncomfortable when she attempted to change the subject to anything else. Traci was great, of course, but she had work most days and Leo most nights, so her visits were brief.

_Thank God for Sam_, Andy thought. Other than running home for an hour to freshen up or going to pick up something more appetizing than hospital food, he was there continually – keeping a running commentary on whatever terrible TV shows they could find on the four available channels, coming up with progressively more awful jokes once she realized that laughing no longer hurt, challenging her to Texas hold 'em marathons with alcohol swabs in lieu of poker chips. A nurse on the night shift tracked down a chair that folded out into a cot, so he at least wouldn't end up with arthritis from sleeping contorted. But she wanted to be home with him, not here. So she decided to set free her inner overachiever.

When the physiotherapist suggested helping her get out of bed to a chair three days into her stay, she insisted on taking a walk as well. By the next morning, she and Sam were taking laps around the unit. She concentrated on maintaining as blithe an expression as possible, knowing that if he suspected she was in any pain, he'd make her rest and her plan would be set back. The tubes came out; she was transferred out of the ICU. The medical horde expressed amazement at her progress. She'd have to take it easy for the next few weeks and go to follow-up appointments, they told her, but there was no reason to keep her hospitalized any longer. Five days after a stretcher had carried her into the trauma bay, Andy stepped through the glass doors onto the concrete walkway, her sense of triumph strong enough to subdue the ache in her torso and the confusion that continued to swirl through her thoughts.

* * *

"Watch your step," Sam cautioned as she ascended the few stairs to the front door, his hand solid against the small of her back.

Andy let out a mildly irritated grumble. "Yeah, yeah. Have you forgotten how I ran up that long flight yesterday with the physiotherapist? This is nothing."

"Well, depending on your definition of 'run'…" he remarked dryly as he unlocked the door, guiding her inside.

She'd certainly tried, as if pushing herself hard enough would cause her body to simply forget her injuries, but a quarter of the way up the first flight, he'd heard her breath catch and watched her hand tighten on the railing. Dismissing the notion that she needed to rest, she continued at a slower pace, jaw clenched and teeth gritting. Sam had stuck his hands in his pockets to keep from throwing her over his shoulder and hauling her back to her room, forcing a grin when she turned around at the top with an _I told you so _smile that didn't reach her eyes.

He'd found himself biting his tongue a lot over the last few days, actually. How she'd persist in walking in endless circles around the unit when he could tell she wasn't really up to it. She'd squeeze her eyes shut a little too tight; the slightest tremor would ripple through her hand as she outstretched it. The nurses didn't notice it, nor the physiotherapist; he didn't expect them to. Were it up to him, he'd have carried her from the truck directly upstairs to their bed – do not pass 'go,' do not collect $200 – settled her amongst the ridiculous number of pillows covering it, and kept her there until he was convinced she was really ready to start moving. But she was stubborn; she'd put herself through hell before she would submit to someone taking care of her. If he forced her hand, she'd shut down, isolate herself from everyone. From him. The last thing he wanted to do was give her any reason to push him away.

So he resolved to keep his mouth shut when she made a beeline for the stack of clothing on the coffee table. "I've been meaning to do laundry forever," she practically chirped. "I guess one decent thing about being stuck on medical leave is that I have plenty of time to catch up on all that kind of stuff."

"It could wait till tomorrow, you know." Maybe it wasn't the strongest resolution he'd ever made.

Andy rolled her eyes. "What, you want me to lie down on the couch and let you fawn over me? I'm fine, Sam."

"Yeah, I know you are," he said, clearly unconvinced. She wasn't listening, already on her way upstairs to retrieve the rest of the dirty clothes.

He walked in slow circles around the room, rubbing the back of his neck. Every answer he thought he had when it came to her caused ten new questions to surface.

She took it easy for the rest of the evening after that, at least. No admissions of pain or fatigue, and Sam figured she'd bite his head off if he asked, but when she requested "just Chinese food and a movie tonight", he knew she was winding down.

They sat at the kitchen table passing cartons back and forth, Sam trying not to let her see him watching her. She looked up and met his eyes as she was digging through the Kung Pao – she liked to pick out all the peanuts, which he normally griped about – and gave him an odd look.

"What is it?"

Sam smiled. "Just happy to have you home."

Andy returned his smile and resumed her dissection. _Smooth recovery, man. You might not be pushing too hard, but the creepy-stalker thing won't do you any favors either_.

She selected The Bourne Identity after they'd cleaned up the kitchen. Sam slouched on the sofa near one end as Andy rested her back against his side with her legs extended. He carefully slung an arm over her shoulder so it crossed her body toward her opposite hip, his fingers moving in abstract patterns on her skin. "Is this okay?" he asked, reaching with his other hand for the remote control.

"Yeah, it's nice," she said, the tiniest bit of drowsiness making its way into her inflection. "Start the movie."

Sam complied, but noticed within half an hour that her head was becoming heavy, falling back against his chest. "Andy."

"Mmm."

"Want to go to bed?"

"No, no," she sleepily protested. "I'm watching."

"Okay. What just happened?"

"He got the passport, and… some other stuff."

Sam chuckled and stood up, guiding her head and shoulders all the way down to the cushions before moving to stand in front of her. He slid one arm under her knees, the other across her back. "Here we go." He lifted her and ascended the stairs, smiling a little when she reached up and wrapped both arms around his neck.

As they reached the bedroom, he whispered, "I'm gonna put you down for a second, okay?" He felt her nod against his shoulder, and lowered her legs to the ground, continuing to support her against him as he pulled the blankets back with his free hand and tossed most of the decorative pillows to the floor. He eased her into bed and covered her before pulling off his jeans and walking around to the other side. It had been a while since he'd really gotten quality sleep, and didn't take long for his eyelids to droop. _She's here. She's fine._

* * *

_Andy doesn't know why it's so dark. The sun is shining, supposed to be the nicest day this whole week. And it smells clammy – is clammy a smell? she wonders. Something's moving in the shadows. She wants to reach toward it, but her hands aren't moving. That's kind of weird. A voice, wavy and distorted: "Look at me!" Fingers working shoelaces. The voice adds something else, that sounds like… Oh. Oh, that's bad. That heavy thing connecting with her side, that's bad. Something cracked, she heard it and everything. Flash of light, puff of smoke. It's acrid in her nostrils, and… oh, hot, too hot, please. Wait, someone's screaming, it sounds bad. She needs to go help them. Doesn't anyone understand that she needs to go help them? Maybe if she asks really nicely… Hold on, who's that? Someone else is talking to her, voice just as indistinct but kind of familiar, and – this one's calling her name. How does he know her name? If he can just wait until she goes – _

"Andy!" Her eyes flew open, a chilling scream still ripping from her throat. _Oh my God, that was me. _It took her a minute to recognize her bedroom, Sam gripping her shoulders, his dark eyes wide with worry.

"What happened?" he implored, his hands going to her hair, her face, touching them like he was trying to make sure she was still there.

She opened and closed her mouth twice, staring into his eyes. If she told him, it would all he saw every time he looked at her.

"I… I don't remember," she lied, her voice cracking as she began to shake.

She felt Sam's arms envelop her, clung to him as hot tears slipped out from the corners of her eyes. "You're okay, you're okay," she heard him whisper, not sure to whom he was speaking.

She had to fix this. He could never know.


	4. Chapter 4

Thank you so much for the reviews, favorites, and alerts. It's great to know that people are reading and enjoying. I just had a couple notes in response to reviews, which I'm hoping will clarify some things moving forward with this story.

Sam isn't worried about any one thing in particular having happened. At this point, he has no idea what Andy's experience was like (I'm keeping it vague for the time being for a reason). There's a fear of the unknown there; in his mind, anything is possible. Couple that with the fact that he's seen some horrific stuff during his career, _and_ he's wondering if the woman he loves potentially went through any of it… That's where his head is at.

Also, my goal here is to run with this wacky premise that popped into my head while staying as true to the characters as possible. I wanted to look at some of their traits – Andy's independence and concern for others, Sam's protectiveness and devotion to her – and how in a crisis, these traits might get amplified and lead to conflict and even isolation from each other (which comes into play a little in this chapter, but it's going to escalate and come to a head very soon).

Okay, I've rambled on enough. (This is what happens when I let the former psych major in me out for air.) Hopefully that clears some stuff up for those of you who had questions – or at the very least doesn't confuse anything further. Thanks again for the feedback, and I hope you enjoy.

* * *

_They say love is blind, but believe me_

_Love is insane_

* * *

Sam drained the last of his coffee as he rose to pour himself a refill. He wasn't sure how many cups this made, having lost count after the first five. The rational part of him realized that it wasn't providing him with increased alertness so much as heart palpitations, but falling asleep in booking wasn't really a viable alternative. Normally he'd have needed to screw up royally in order to earn this assignment, but Frank had taken one look at him when he'd staggered into parade that morning and told him in no uncertain terms that he wasn't setting foot near a squad car. He was silently grateful, knowing that he wasn't in optimal condition to serve and protect. It had been a slow day, though; nobody was coming in, and a moody Peck had made it clear first thing that she had no desire to talk. (Sam briefly wondered what _she _had screwed up.) He hardly believed what he was thinking, but he would've preferred a little more noise: Epstein talking his ear off, a perp in the middle of a manic episode, anything to help keep him awake. As it was, the holding cells' sole occupant was peacefully sleeping off a bender. Sam eyed him with what he was a bit disgusted to realize was jealousy.

It had happened every night for the last week. A few hours after they'd fall asleep, Andy's screams would shatter the silence, only for her to have no recollection of what caused them when he finally woke her up. He hated that he'd gotten used to the feeling of her trembling violently against him, feared that nothing he said or did would be enough to help crack open her personal hell long enough for her to climb out. He'd calm her down enough that she could sometimes go back to sleep, but he was never able to join her. Instead, he'd watch and try to find a pattern; a hitch in her breathing, a fleeting grimace, a soft moan. If he could figure out when they started, maybe he could wake her before she slipped into the nightmare. Maybe it would help her remember.

* * *

_Get a grip_, Andy thought as she stared at her cereal bowl. She had taken three bites an hour ago, and was fairly certain the remaining cornflakes had begun to disintegrate in the meantime. All of her efforts at the moment were focused on outsmarting the dreams. They were in _her_ head, after all; disruptive squatters, really. There had to be a way to kick them out, or at least contain them. Maybe she could set some kind of alarm, or look up advice on lucid dreaming, or… _Okay, that sounds ridiculous._ One week into medical leave and the woman who always had a plan was grasping at straws.

Exasperated, she got to her feet and padded to the kitchen, scraping the contents of the bowl into the garbage disposal. It took her a couple of hours to ease back into reality most days. The familiarity of the house, their things, their life helped awaken her until she could bury the contents of the nightmare and throw herself into watching inane daytime TV. But no matter what she did – staying up late so she'd be too exhausted to think, repeating stupid affirmations in her head as she drifted off – every night was the same. And it wasn't making it easy to keep it to herself.

Sam could be a lot of things. Considerate and funny and tender the majority of the time; curt when he was annoyed or distracted; overprotective to a fault when he thought she might be in harm's way. But he was far from stupid, especially where she was concerned. She was acutely aware her didn't buy her incessant refrain of "I'm fine" for a second, what with her best impression of a horror-movie extra snapping him out of slumber every night. The thought of opening up about it to anyone was hard enough to wrap her mind around. Every time she considered confiding in him, though, she felt the turbulent memories cycling through her mind like a vigorously shaken soda bottle. If she edged the cap open, it would be positively explosive. Irreparable. And Sam would start to see her as his problem instead of his partner, or worse, beat himself up for having not been there that day. It would lead to resentment, and codependence, and the loss of the best thing she'd ever have. She was sure of it.

Week two of medical leave: time to try a different tactic, Andy decided. An hour or so after Sam left for work, she walked to the convenience store a couple of blocks away and bought a sleep aid, something mild and non-habit-forming according to the box. She slipped the narrow sheets of blister-pack pills into her oldest pair of socks once she got home, and that night, furtively took twice the recommended dose while Sam was brushing his teeth.

She slept straight through, but with no interruption, the nightmare just played on a loop. The next day was… well, getting shot had its perks in comparison.

So she took to sleeping during the day when Sam was at work, lying beside him at night, wide awake with her eyes closed. It wasn't a perfect solution; she couldn't swing it on his days off, and eventually she'd have to be functional during normal hours again, but it was getting the job done. She could scream to an empty house, and he was none the wiser.

Halfway through the third week, she had a doctor's appointment scheduled at 1:00, followed by a late afternoon meeting at the station. "Big fun," she remarked wryly to Sam as he finished getting ready for work that morning. "Best case scenario, I'm cleared for desk duty."

He looked at her thoughtfully. "Yeah, but it's a step, right? Gets you back in uniform." He placed his empty coffee mug. "So I'll be back around 12:30."

"Why?"

"To take you to the doctor," Sam said as if it were obvious.

"Sam, you don't have to do that," Andy dismissed with a wave of her hand. "I'll take the bus."

He shot her a skeptical glance. "You'd have to transfer at the downtown bus depot."

"No big deal."

"Right. So you must have been having an out-of-body experience the day you spent a solid half hour talking about how the downtown bus depot smells like feet."

"I don't mind," she insisted.

"Neither do I. It's not a problem, Andy."

She looked for a second as if she was about to concede the point, but then she straightened her shoulders. "I don't want you wasting half your day chauffeuring me around."

"It's not –"

"I know, I know, it's not a problem, but haven't you already spent enough time in waiting rooms for me?"

She watched rapid-fire emotions flicker across his face – confusion, hurt, anger – and immediately knew she'd crossed a line.

"Yeah, all right," he eventually muttered, his expression stony. "I guess I'll see you after your meeting with Frank and the shrink."

He left the room without another word; a second later, Andy heard the front door open and close.

Pangs of guilt ricocheted through her stomach. Being in a relationship with Sam Swarek meant embracing who he was: the guy who was there when it mattered, who'd probably take a bullet on her behalf, who for whatever reason liked doing things for her. She'd thrown his generosity – and with it, whatever he had gone through while waiting for her to wake up – back in his face.

She wanted to follow him out, apologize, tell him she wouldn't know what to do without him. But she simply stood motionless for a moment before making her way toward the stairs. She couldn't move fast enough yet to catch up with him anyway, she rationalized, only a little alarmed at the fact that she was now lying to herself.

* * *

"So let me be the first to officially welcome you back, Officer McNally," Best said as they stood just inside the open door of his office. "I know restricted duty isn't your ideal, but…"

"I'm just happy to be back, sir," Andy replied quickly. She made her way down the stairs and around the corner, where Sam, already changed and none too thrilled, was leaning against the wall.

"So how was the bus depot?" he asked, his tone dripping in fake enthusiasm. He was wearing the patented _I don't have the patience for you_ smile with which she'd been intimately familiar as his rookie.

She sighed and admitted, "Pretty funky. But I'm cleared for restricted duty starting the day after tomorrow, so it was worth having to breathe through my mouth."

He raised an eyebrow. "Well, well. Very good, Copper." His tone was courteous but detached; she recognized it one he employed when he was too upset to yell at her.

"Sam…" She placed a hand on his arm. "Look, this morning was not my finest hour. I didn't mean what I said."

He didn't respond for a minute, his eyes focused on a spot on the opposite wall. "Okay," he finally said.

"Okay?"

"You said something crappy. You feel bad about it. Okay."

Andy knew he wasn't entirely over it. She slid her hand down his arm until her fingers wound around his, shifting her body so that she was in his line of vision. "I'm sorry," she said earnestly.

He nodded, closing his fingers over hers. "Thanks." He sounded more sincere this time, and Andy slowly let out breath she'd been holding.

"Disregard?" she asked hopefully.

Sam chuckled. "Disregard. Ready to get out of here?"

Andy nodded, and they started down the hall. Traci spotted them as she came out of the locker room, and grinned widely at the sight of her friend.

"What's the verdict?"

Andy smiled. "I'm back on Thursday."

Traci squealed, leaning forward to hug Andy gently. "That's awesome! We should celebrate. Everyone's going to the Penny in a couple of hours, you guys in?"

"Yeah! I mean, why not, right?" Andy glanced at Sam.

Sam smiled at her, then turned to Traci. "We'll see you there."

* * *

"So what'd you say in there, anyway?" Sam asked as they drove later that evening, attempting to keep his tone casual.

Andy shrugged. "Not much. Gave them the note from the doctor saying I was okay to come back and should be totally healed up and ready for full duty in a couple weeks. And then I told them what I remember, which is basically nothing."

"Mm-hmm." Sam slowed at a red light and turned to look at her. "And the psychologist? She didn't, you know, go through the whole battery of questions?"

"She did," Andy acknowledged. "It wasn't a big deal. I mean, just some boxes she needed to check off, right?"

_No, it's not just some boxes. It's supposed to be about helping you handle things in a way other than blocking them out and insisting you're fine_. As he opened his mouth, unsure of what he could actually say that wouldn't lead to another argument, the light turned green. He turned his attention back to the road. "Sure."

They pulled into the parking lot of the Penny and walked toward the entrance. A couple of guys stood outside talking, the red-orange embers of their cigarettes visible in the dark. Sam walked past them and turned to Andy to say something, only to realize she was no longer beside him. He stopped, confused, and turned until he saw her several feet back, staring intently at the men.

"Andy?" He walked back toward her, his eyebrows raised in concern.

She didn't seem to hear him. He touched her arm, and her head snapped in his direction. She looked out of sorts for a second before something resembling recognition made its way into her expression.

"You okay?"

She nodded. "Yeah, sorry. I just zoned out." She flashed a quick smile at him, keeping her eyes on his as they walked toward the door, his hand resting between her shoulder blades.

As they walked inside, Andy was almost instantly surrounded by her former fellow rookies. "Rock and roll, McNally!" Dov immediately greeted, hands raised in preparation for a high-five as he approached. (Sam tried not to wince.) As they stood in a pack near the entryway, everyone talking over one another, Traci turned back to Sam, who was amusedly watching the scene unfold before him. "Sorry, Swarek, but we need to get this girl a drink."

"First round's on me," Chris said, shooting Andy a somewhat sheepish look. She rolled her eyes and grinned at him.

"But don't worry, sir," Dov assured, his face officious. "We'll return her intact."

"Mostly," Gail snarked with a grin as they disappeared toward a table.

Sam smiled at the sight of Andy looking more animated than she had in weeks. He heard his name being called behind him, and turned to see Oliver and Jerry sitting at a table, Oliver lifting a beer bottle in his direction. "It's got your name on it, buddy."

With one quick glance back at Andy, who was now laughing and holding a shotglass filled with a liquid that was an unnatural shade of blue, he made his way over to his friends.

Several hours later, Oliver had gone home ("Zoe's idea of 'making it work' is I'm back on the couch if I walk in a minute after eight") and Jerry was trying to conceal the yawns. Sam looked down at his second beer, which had been warm and thus entirely unappealing for… a while. He stood up. "I'm thinking it's time to call it a night."

Jerry looked up, apparently mulling over the idea. "Yes. It is a night."

Sam chuckled and crossed the room, where Andy's head was resting on an arm extended across the tabletop, her body twisting with the occasional unprompted giggle.

"I take it your evening's been good?" he said to her.

She looked up, a delighted and sloppy grin overtaking her face as she saw him. "Hi," she drawled. "You're nice."

He laughed. "Easy, tiger." He looked up at Epstein and Peck (Diaz was at the bar getting a refill, and Nash had left earlier). "Mind if I steal her?"

Andy giggled. "You don't have to _steal_ me. I'm _free_." She raised her arms. "See, you can't find a price tag!"

He shook his head with another laugh; given that she could hold her liquor better than most, this was a rare view. They said good night to everyone and made their way out to the truck, Andy mostly walking in a straight line.

When they got home and upstairs, she pulled off her top and stepped out of her jeans, leaving them on the floor as she grabbed a T-shirt of his.

"I'm gonna get you some water and a couple aspirin," Sam said.

Andy turned her head in his direction, keeping her back to him. "If you want."

By the time he got back to the bedroom, she was asleep under the covers. He placed the full glass and pills on the bedside table, turning off the lamp and crawling in beside her.

* * *

Andy woke up feeling like a screwdriver was being methodically driven through her temple. Her mouth was arid, she was vaguely nauseous, and the sun had no right to be so strong. She sat up slowly, slipping out from underneath Sam's arm. _Wait a second. The sun?_ It was morning, Sam was still asleep… and she hadn't dreamed. Nothing. Just several hours of total oblivion.

She spotted the water glass next to her and swallowed the pills with a gulp, trying not to groan when the pain rebounded through her head as she tossed it back. She lied back, willing the aspirin to take effect quickly, and was surprised at how, despite the pounding behind her eyes, her mind felt incredibly clear.


	5. Chapter 5

I own nothing.

* * *

_Catch me I'm falling_

_Faster than anyone should_

_Catch me I'm falling_

_Please hear me calling_

* * *

"He did not," Andy said with an incredulous laugh as she climbed into the passenger seat.

Sam slammed the opposite door and reached for his seatbelt. "Believe me, you don't forget an image like that." He shook his head in disbelief as he recalled his new rookie's actions.

"I can see Marcus thinking it would be a good idea to jump out from behind a corner to ambush someone, especially if you were too far behind to catch him. But he actually yelled 'Boo'?"

"To be fair, it did distract the guy enough so we could take him down," Sam mused. "But if Best doesn't assign him a new training officer soon, I'm gonna volunteer for desk duty."

"That is the worst lie I've ever heard," Andy retorted.

Sam grinned at her. "At least I'd be in good company."

She sighed. "Well, my follow-up appointment is on Friday. I'm pretty much all healed up, so I should back on the streets after that."

Sam was quiet for a minute as he drove. "So you're ready."

Andy looked at him, surprised. "Of course. I'm bored out of my mind behind a desk."

"I know," he acknowledged. "Just wondering if you might want to slow things down a little. Take some time to process."

"Process what? I got injured and I don't remember how. Not too much there to figure out."

Sam tried to keep his face neutral. He'd been suspecting she knew more than she was letting on since that night in the parking lot of the Penny a couple of weeks ago. She'd been off since then – not that things had been anywhere close to their version of normal since her hospitalization, but this was a different kind of off. She was blasé, offhand about everything, their conversations superficial and indifferent. As they'd watched TV a couple of nights before, he glanced at her and could've sworn for a second that her eyes were glazed over, but when he looked back, she was focused on the screen intently. _Trick of the light_, he'd told himself.

"If you're sure," he eventually said with a shrug. He didn't know how far he could push this version of Andy. He knew she wasn't above walking out on him if she felt closed in… and while the mental images of him running after her, her screaming at him in the street, their coworkers arriving at the house after receiving a call from the neighbors were probably overblown, he was still hesitant.

"Oh, hey," Andy said suddenly. "Can we stop and pick up a bottle of wine? It would be good to have something with that stew you put in the Crock-Pot this morning."

"Yeah," Sam nodded, putting on the left turn signal before a puzzled expression crossed his face. "Wait, don't we already have a red? It's in the cabinet above the refrigerator."

"I brought that to Traci's for our girls' night last week. Remember? You had poker, and Gail and I went over there…"

"Right, right," he recalled. "So Jerry took my money and Traci took our wine. Merciless, those two."

She smiled. "Completely."

* * *

The next night, Sam had turned on the television and was flipping through the channels when Andy walked in, a pair of high heels in her right hand. She sat down beside him on the couch, placing the shoes down in front of her and sliding her feet into them.

"We're just grabbing a quick dinner," she told him. "We both have early shift in the morning. I just haven't gotten to talk to Traci in forever."

"Weren't you at her place last week?"

"Yeah," Andy said as she fiddled with one strap. "But she and Jerry went on vacation the next day and just got back, so…"

Sam nodded. "So you need to gossip. Understood."

They heard a horn honk outside. She leaned over with a smile and brushed a kiss over his lips. "Later."

Sam found the pre-show commentary for the hockey game and settled in to watch what he hoped would be a resounding victory for the Maple Leafs, Andy never quite leaving his mind.

Three and a half hours later, the Leafs had been thoroughly trounced by the Penguins – _the worst team in the league this year, way to add to the humiliation_ – and there was no sign of Andy. Sam wasn't that concerned; he'd watched her and Nash dissect an issue before, and they could probably spend several days going at it about a weeklong romantic getaway. (Not that he wanted to think about that.) Besides, going out to dinner with a friend – that was normal. Healthy, really. Maybe none of it was as bad as he'd thought.

He cleaned up the kitchen and started to head upstairs to get ready for bed when he heard his cell phone ringing faintly. He picked it up from where it rested on the arm of the couch. Andy. He flipped it open. "Hey."

"Sam, it's Traci." Nash's unexpected voice sent ice through his veins.

"Is she okay?" he asked quickly.

"She's fine. We're leaving now. I'm just waiting for her to come out of the bathroom."

He exhaled slowly. "And you're calling me from her phone to tell me this as a courtesy?"

"Look, something kind of weird happened." Her voice lowered, and Sam had to concentrate to hear her over the din in the background. "I wanted to show her something Leo made for me while I was gone, and she came out to the car with me to look at it. We were walking back into the restaurant and this guy stopped us in front of the door, cheesy pick-up lines and all that – you know, typical slimeball. We obviously shot him down, but he decided to be a jerk about it. Blew smoke in Andy's face. She got this really weird look and ran back in, went straight to the bar. Said she just felt like doing some shots. I told her to slow down, but…"

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. "Just get her back here."

"I will. She's coming out now." He heard the phone click.

Fifteen very long minutes later, a car door slammed in the driveway. Sam opened the front door to see Traci leading Andy up the path. "M'fine," he heard her mutter. _Yeah, not really._ Andy avoided his eyes as she stumbled inside.

Traci glanced at Sam uneasily. "You gonna be okay? Want me to help get her upstairs, or…"

He shook his head. "No, I got it. Thanks." He paused, a hand on the door frame. "Look, has she talked to you about anything that's going on with her? Tonight or… or last week?"

"Last week?"

"Yeah, she was at your place with Peck the day before your trip."

Traci looked confused. "No, she wasn't. I asked her to come over and keep me company while I packed, but she said she kind of felt like just hanging out by herself. And Gail's been working nights for a few weeks now."

_What else is she lying about? _Sam let the sinking sensation wash over him before he realized Traci was still there, a curious expression on her face. "My mistake," he muttered. "Thanks, Nash, have a good night."

He closed the door, locking it behind him, and forced himself to take a deep breath before continuing into the house. When he didn't find Andy downstairs, he made his way up to the bedroom, where she was sprawled on the bed fully clothed. He sighed; any turmoil he wanted to address was going to have to wait until she was in more of a condition to participate. He walked over to her dresser, looking for her pajamas. As he pulled out a pair of flannel pants, he heard something clink. Reaching back further into the drawer, his hand closed around something cool and hard. A half-full bottle of cheap vodka – the kind that could probably be used in lieu of turpentine. _You have got to be kidding me_. He stared at it, wanting to smash it against the wall, to make it disappear, to turn back time and prevent it from ever having ended up in Andy's possession.

She was out cold, and he was about to lose his mind with anger and worry. So he looked, made himself see everything he didn't want to and maybe shouldn't have. He found them nestled between a stack of T-shirts; in the deep pockets of her winter coat; tucked inside the tall boots she rarely wore. He carried them down to the kitchen, spilling their contents down the drain one by one. Heading back upstairs, he stood in the bedroom doorway, watching her for a long time. Eventually, he covered her with the throw blanket folded at the foot of the bed and returned to the living room. He was familiar with long nights; this one was going to leave them all in the dust.


	6. Chapter 6

At long last, things happen! Warning: parts of this chapter are pretty dark. I honestly have no idea where it came from, but please use discretion.

As always, I own nothing.

* * *

_Are you bleeding_

_Are you bruised, are you broken_

_Does it help you to know, well so am I_

_Tell me what to do_

_Tell me who to be_

_So I can see what you see_

* * *

Andy knew it wasn't going to be a good day when she woke up in last night's clothes. Her head felt like it was in a vise, and the comforter was smooth on the other side of the bed. She squinted at the clock. _Oh, no_. Parade started in twenty minutes. She got to her feet as quickly as she could handle, wondering if she had time for some desperately needed coffee.

As she walked into the living room on her way to the kitchen, she noticed something piled on the coffee table out of the corner of her eye. She did a double take. Empty glass bottles were lined up across the surface. Behind them was Sam, who sat on the couch looking at her expectantly.

She sighed, running a hand through her disheveled hair. "Look, I don't have time right now…"

"Yes, you do." His voice was raspy with lack of sleep. "I called Frank. Said you were sick."

Andy's eyes widened. "You can't just do that. It's my job."

"Which you take so seriously that you're willing to show up hungover?"

She scoffed. "It's desk duty. I could do it in my sleep."

Sam stood up and walked around the coffee table. "We're done dancing around this, Andy," he said tightly. "This is a bad road. You of all people know that."

She recoiled as if she'd been slapped. "How can you say that?"

He fought to keep calm. "You spent most of your life watching it. And you know it doesn't fix anything." He took a step toward her. "Talk to me," he implored.

She crossed her arms and looked away. "I have nothing to say."

"Andy…"

"Why are you doing this?"

Sam lost it. "Because I'm done watching you self-destruct!" he yelled.

Andy blinked hard, then tossed her head. "Fine. Then I'll leave so you don't have to."

In a flash, Sam was in the doorway, blocking her path to the foyer. "No."

She looked up at him, fury in her eyes. "Get out of my way, Sam."

He held her gaze with one equally resolute. "Not gonna happen."

"Move." She pushed him.

He bit back his temper. "No."

She went to shove him again, but he caught her wrists in his hands before she could, gently lowering them to her sides. "Why do you freak out when you see people smoking?"

He watched her face falter for a second before the defiance returned to her expression. "I don't freak out. It's a disgusting habit."

"I don't believe you," Sam said simply. "I've tried not to push you with this, but…"

"Then don't push me!" she yelled, her voice cracking. "I finally found a way to block it out, and it means I can't see it anymore."

"Block what out?" he persisted. "Andy…"

"'You take the left, I'll go right.'"

"What?"

She laced her fingers around the back of her neck, beginning to pace around the room. "'You take the left, I'll go right.' That's what I told Chris. And the right side of the house, there was this alley. A door. I didn't make it past it because the guy flung it open as I was running and I slammed right into it. Pathetic, right? Every time I fall asleep, that's where it picks up."

Sam stared intently at her, willing her to continue.

"It looks like a basement. It has to be. My hands are behind me strapped to a pipe – it's some kind of cloth holding them there, not too rough, but the knots are so tight and I can't move. Cops think you're so smart, he says. There's something wet on my cheek, he spit at me and I try to wipe it off with my shoulder but I can't reach. He makes me watch him put on these boots, and he's… proud when he tells me they're steel-toed. And I look at him thinking, who cares? Until he smashes one into my ribs. Stomps on my knee." She pressed her fists into the wall, leaning her forehead against them like she was praying. Sam approached her slowly, his eyes never leaving her.

"It's starting to get harder to breathe. And then I hear the lighter, smell the smoke… I see something silver moving near my stomach, and my vest must be gone, because I can't feel the weight of it anymore. I feel the air on my skin in a second, so my shirt must be gone too. He screams at me to look at him and I'm scared not to. He has this… horrible jack-o-lantern grin, stained teeth and nasty breath, and then there's a lit cigarette in each hand, and they're… God, it hurts so bad."

She turned around, and her back slid down the wall until she'd lowered her body to the floor completely, sobs escaping from her throat. Sam crouched beside her, tentatively placed a hand on her shoulder. When she didn't protest or move away, he wrapped his arms around her quivering body, pulling her to his chest.

"And he keeps talking. About how when he finishes, he's gonna play connect the dots with his switchblade. And I can't breathe, I can't…" Her words dissolved into uncontrollable wails, sounding for all the world to Sam like a wounded animal.

_The whole time. She's been reliving this the whole time_. He tucked her head under his chin and rocked her back and forth, swallowing the lump that had formed in his own throat as she spoke. Seeing her unravel like this was agonizing; she was so desolate, broken. He tightened his arms around her, hoping against hope that if he held her securely enough, maybe he could absorb some of her pain.

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart," he murmured into her hair. "You're safe now. I'm not going anywhere, okay?"

He felt Andy's clenched fists begin to relax, and her arms hesitantly crept out around his waist. "Good," he encouraged softly, stroking her back as her sobs slowly quieted. "Just breathe. I'm right here."

They stayed there on the floor for what felt like hours, a tangle of limbs and shuddering sighs. Eventually, Andy's voice, muffled and small, floated up to him. "I'm sorry."

He shook his head gently. "Don't be."

"I'm so tired."

He rubbed her shoulder. "I know."

Some time later, he felt her slump against him, and her breathing became even.

* * *

Andy woke up in bed, the mild late afternoon sunlight coming through the curtains. Sam's familiar weight was pressed against her back. She turned toward him and saw his eyes opening.

"Hi," she said.

"Hi," he said, reaching out to stroke her cheek. "How are you feeling?"

_Awkward. Nervous. _She considered the words before she settled on the description that was most prominent in her mind. "Rested. I don't think I've slept that well in weeks."

He smiled gently. "Neither have I." They remained there, searching each other's faces, until Sam broke the silence. "Keeping all that to yourself must have been really hard."

"I thought about telling you, Sam. I did," she said, her eyes pleading. "But I wanted you to see me, not what happened to me. I think I was trying to protect you from that."

_Right. Trying to protect _me_ from what's torturing her. If that's not her, I don't know what is. _"Andy, I know what I can handle. You can't make that decision for me."

She looked at him steadily. "You mean you didn't want to go to the penitentiary and kill that guy? You're not going to see this in your head like I have?"

Sam sighed. "One, that's what the justice system is for. I'll admit I wouldn't mind helping the guy's face meet a barbed-wire fence, but I'm a cop, not a vigilante." He drew in a breath before continuing. "And yes, the thought of you having endured what you did is… unpleasant, to say the least. But not knowing what you went through or if you're okay – that's worse."

Andy nodded her head slightly as he continued.

"If I could make it so this had never happened, I would. And I hate that I can't." He paused, his thumb running along her jawline. "But whatever it takes, however long it takes, we'll get through it. Move on."

She returned his gaze with trepidation. "You have to think I'm all kinds of screwed up right now."

"Because I haven't been screwed up before?" he questioned. "Things happen to us, Andy. We react. We recover. Believe me when I tell you, trying to do it alone is a lot harder."

"I just… I didn't want you to have to come to my rescue. Or think I couldn't deal with it."

Sam sighed. "Okay, so if we're out on a call, and some goon is backing you into a corner and waving a gun around, should I not take him down?"

Andy was confused. "Of course you would."

"You wouldn't want me to think you couldn't deal with it?"

Andy looked away. "Sam, that's different."

"How? Look at me." When she hesitated, he reached a hand toward her face and gently angled her chin upward. "Partners have each other's backs, right? This…" He gestured back and forth between them. "This is as much of a partnership as anything that goes on out there. More. That means if you're in trouble, I have your back."

"That's my job," Andy said softly. "This is my life. _You_ are my… I can't lose you."

"Nothing is gonna scare me away, Andy. You and me… I'm all in. Always have been."

She inched closer to him; he lifted his arm and tucked her into his side. She felt his heartbeat thump against her ear, both of them comfortable in the silence and each other.

Eventually, Andy looked up. "Can we go for a drive?"

* * *

The sun was beginning to set as she made her way across the grass, searching the objects that rested there. Spotting the one she sought, she approached and sat down cross-legged before it.

It took her a minute to begin speaking. "Do you remember my twelfth birthday? Mom was on a business trip, before we found out that that was code for 'having an affair,' and you were working on some big case. You were supposed to be working the early shift that day, home before five." She clasped her hands together, her thumbs circling over one another. "I knew you'd probably be tired, so I made a cake. Just something from a mix, it probably wouldn't have tasted that good anyway… but it didn't feel like a birthday without one."

She trailed off, thinking about how the cake sat on the counter for hours untouched before she'd lifted it over her head with both hands and slammed it into the garbage can.

"You finally got home just before midnight, and you smelled awful. I mean, you'd have probably gone up in flames if anyone lit a match within ten meters of you. And you asked me why I was sad, and I said it was because you'd forgotten my birthday. When you got that really guilty look on your face, I knew I was right and I started crying. But you said, 'No, no, of course I didn't,' and dug in your pocket until you found something. You handed me your lock-picking kit and said, 'Happy birthday. Now come over by the door, I'm gonna show you how to use this.'"

She sighed, running her fingers over her father's engraved name on the stone. Two weeks after she had split up with Luke, his liver had finally given out, and there was nothing more the doctors could do. She remembered the feeling of Sam's hand on her shoulder as they'd stood right here during the burial, a gentle reminder that she wasn't alone.

"I wanted to be like you. Follow in your footsteps; make you proud. I always tried to think like you would. So… I guess it makes sense that when I had a problem and needed to deal with it, I did what you'd do. But it wasn't the answer for you, and it's not for me. I don't know what is yet, not exactly – but I'll find it." She smiled. "Well, _we'll_ find it."

She stood up, brushing errant blades of grass from her legs. "I love you, Dad," she said. She walked back through the gate as the sun was beginning to fade from sight and climbed into the passenger side of the gray truck.

Sam looked at her, reaching out his hand. "You okay?"

Andy slipped her fingers into his, her smile tinged with more hope than she'd felt in a long time. "I will be."

* * *

Whew. Epilogue to follow.


	7. Chapter 7

Thank you so much for the reviews, favorites, and alerts. Getting feedback is awesome, and definitely encouraged me to continue when parts of this chapter gave me a bit of trouble. Sad to bring this to an end, but I think I've tortured poor Andy enough for the time being! Thanks again for reading – enjoy.

Oh, and I continue to own nothing.

* * *

_When our long night is done, there will be light_

* * *

Sam was pulling a baking sheet out of the oven when he heard the front door slam shut, followed by the familiar thud of Andy's bag hitting the floor.

"Sam?"

"Kitchen!" he called back, placing the metal sheet on top of the stove and pushing the oven door shut with his foot.

Andy appeared in the doorway. "Is that what I think it is?"

Sam grinned. "The garlic bread that's famous across this great land? Yes."

"By 'this great land,' I'm assuming you mean the plot the house sits on," Andy teased.

"Hey, now. People have traveled far and wide for the culinary experience you're about to have, McNally."

She raised an eyebrow. "Far and wide? Oliver lives twenty minutes away."

He pretended to think for a moment. "Well, I guess I can always just throw it out…"

"No, no, don't do that," Andy said quickly.

He smirked. "That's what I thought." As he turned back to the stove to stir a bubbling pot of sauce, he felt her hand slide across his waist and shifted his gaze toward her, amused to find a smiling face two inches from his.

"Hi," she said against his lips.

He leaned forward and kissed her. "Hi."

As the instance repeated itself several times, Sam vaguely realized that the sauce was starting to sound angry. "As much as I hate to turn my attention elsewhere, burnt dinner is not exactly what I'm going for."

She pulled away reluctantly, taking a few steps backward and hoisting herself up to sit on the opposite countertop. "Need any help?"

"Nah, I'm good. Besides, I wouldn't want you to be distracted from what I'm sure is the incredibly sexy sight of me in the kitchen."

"For the sake of your fragile ego, I'm gonna let that one go," she said, knowing that she wouldn't be able to argue the point convincingly anyway. "How was Speed Trap Day with Marcus?"

He stiffened slightly. "What happened to the concern for my ego?"

She laughed. "It got sent out of the game early."

"Well. Did you know that he collects bobble-heads?"

"I… can't say I did."

"Oh, yeah," Sam assured her as he removed a couple of plates from the cabinet above the stove. "Mostly athletes, but a few politicians and celebrities here and there. Apparently he's got an exceptional Lady Gaga."

Andy laughed. _What I would give to see his face if that thing ended up on the dashboard of his squad car_. She made a mental note to talk with Marcus at some point.

"And you?" Sam asked with a quick glance back at her as he ladled out pasta.

She paused. "Surveillance was okay," she responded. "And the rest was… enlightening."

He looked at her curiously. "Enlightening, huh?"

She shrugged. "Yep."

Sam nodded, knowing that particular topic was exhausted for the evening, and offered her a full plate. "Hungry?"

She hopped down from the counter. "Ravenous."

"Don't make promises you can't keep," he jokingly warned, his grin matching hers as he followed her to the table.

* * *

_Talking to someone had been her idea. "Not that you haven't been amazing," she'd said hesitantly as they sat on the couch. "I just think this might be beyond you."_

"_You might be right," he'd agreed. (Accepting his limitations – especially where it pertained to her – had admittedly stung at first, but given the mountain she had to climb, it seemed like the least he could do.) Within a couple of days, she'd found a list of names and made an appointment. She asked him, somewhat sheepishly, if he would drive her; he told her she didn't need to ask._

_He expected that things would progress slowly, with false starts and periodic steps backward. What he didn't expect was for Andy to storm out of the office a third of the way through her fifty-minute hour. He followed her out into the parking lot, where she stood beside the truck impatiently. "Let's go, Swarek!" It was the last thing she said for hours. When they got home, she lingered in the garage, strapping Sam's too-big boxing gloves to her hands and going to town on the heavy bag he'd put up in the corner a couple of years back. After about twenty minutes, she removed the gloves and walked into the house as if nothing had happened._

_To her credit, she'd tried again - twice. The results were the same: shortly after walking into the building, she'd come flying back out the door (Sam's instinct to not bother going inside having proved itself right), sit in the truck with a glower until it arrived in the driveway, then unleash her inner pugilist. Following her respective encounters with the third therapist and the heavy bag (the latter significantly longer than the former), she made her way inside and sat down next to him on the couch, her bangs damp with sweat._

"_They all said the same thing."_

_He turned to look at her. "Which was?"_

_She stared straight ahead. "That I might not be able to handle my job anymore."_

_It had to be a misinterpretation – an embellishment at least. "No trained professional in their right mind…" he started._

"_Well, they did. And it apparently might take months or years before I'm anything near normal again. I might never be."_

_Sam ran a couple of fingertips along her shoulder, knowing there was nothing he could say that she wouldn't misconstrue as false hope or condescension. They must have given her nothing more than a worst-case scenario, but it wouldn't completely surprise him if she had gone into those offices and wheedled them for some kind of prognosis until they'd told her what she was expecting – and probably dreading to hear. He had a feeling that she would remain stagnant unless someone understood her perspective, and didn't let her get away with painting her career as an insurmountable obstacle behind which she could conveniently hide. So when he saw the stack of yellow flyers outside the parade room, he discreetly removed one, putting it in his pocket to bring home._

_Andy had reviewed the page skeptically. '"Support group for service professionals following a traumatic event.' I guess I should be thankful they didn't try to make it into an acronym."_

_Sam cleared his throat. "You can always leave if it sucks."_

"_It probably will."_

_She stayed the whole time – for that meeting and each one subsequent for months. Sam wasn't sure what happened in the basement of the Lutheran church down the street twice a week, but they were obviously doing something right. It was mostly police officers, she said, a few firefighters and one or two ex-military. Sometimes she'd arrive home bursting at the seams with ideas and questions, not seeming to care that he rarely had answers. Other nights, she'd slip inside with red-rimmed eyes, her silence a force field that he knew better than to try and penetrate. What struck him more than her immediate reactions, though, was how the sharp edges she had developed since her attack softened in microscopic increments each day. How she ate more, slept better, smiled with her eyes. How the vitality with which he'd fallen in love made itself known again, her light slowly but surely making its way back to her._

* * *

Andy's eyes closed involuntarily with her first forkful of penne. "Mmm," she smiled, attempting to savor the rich array of spices for as long as possible.

"The verdict?"

She swallowed her food and reached for her water glass, nodding after a sip. "I like it when you feed me."

He smiled. "Well, we all know what happens when you're responsible for dinner."

"Hey," she protested with a grin. "I've gotten better."

"Two words, McNally," he said from around a mouthful of green beans. "Tofu stir-fry."

"Okay, how was I supposed to know that stuff was going to fall apart before anything else could cook?"

He looked at her incredulously. "The better question is, what business did you have bringing tofu into this house when there's perfectly good meat in the world?"

"It's supposed to have all these health benefits…" she began before abandoning her speech, knowing she wasn't likely to get anywhere on this front. "And anyway, that's three words."

"Wrong. 'Stir-fry' is hyphenated, thus one word."

She placed her fork down and pushed her chair back slightly. "I'm gonna go look it up."

"Okay." He shrugged. "But I refuse to accept responsibility for anything that happens to your garlic bread in your absence."

She attempted a glare, well aware that she was doing a terrible job at concealing her laughter. "Fair enough." She scooted herself back in toward the table. "So I talked to Frank today."

He looked up from his plate. "Yeah?"

"I think I'm ready to work the streets again."

He quirked an eyebrow. "You think?"

"I know."

"Surveillance van's not doing it for you, huh?"

She scoffed. "That too. But the job I signed up for is out there. I want to get back to it, and if things happen… I'll deal."

"Yes, you will," he said with a soft smile. "Now, have you given any thought as to who you might like to ride with? Because I hear there's an officer at Fifteen who would happily lock his rookie in a holding cell if it meant partnering with you."

"Hmm." She pretended to mull it over. "How do I know this officer isn't just using me as an excuse to ditch his rookie?"

"Maybe he's thinking two birds, one stone."

"That's reasonable enough," she supposed. "And seeing me at work all day and home all night? It wouldn't be too much for him?"

Sam reached across the table to take her hand in his, the corners of his mouth lazily curling upward. "Wouldn't have it any other way."

* * *

_Things weren't strained after it happened, not exactly. Just hesitant. Cautious. Talking came easier as the days passed, and she seemed okay with him touching her to an extent – his thumb running over the back of her hand, his arm around her shoulders – but she shied away from anything beyond that, and he wasn't about to rush her. She wore baggy clothes around the house – his T-shirts, oversized pajama sets printed with ducks or hearts or something. After a while he started to recognize the stiffness in her demeanor for what it was: embarrassment. Allowing herself to be vulnerable had never been her forte; it was the same reason she hadn't talked to him when she remembered in the first place. He could have told her a thousand times that letting him in didn't make her weak or needy, but it would probably have just made things worse. Maybe she just needed an opportunity to see him the same way._

"_Did I ever tell you about my class trip to the circus?" he asked from his side of the bed one night. _

_He heard Andy shift in the darkness. "When?"_

"_I was seven. It was a low-budget piece of crap. A couple guys juggling, some asthmatic ponies. And clowns. A lot of clowns."_

"_What's a lot?"_

"_Any more than none." He chuckled and cringed simultaneously. "See, that was the day I learned that clowns are terrifying."_

_She snorted. "They're supposed to be entertaining."_

"_Not when they're trying to eat you. So one of them came up to the section my class was sitting in, making faces and doing… clown stuff. I stood up and ended up falling over the back of the bench trying to get away."_

_Andy sucked in a breath. "Bet that hurt."_

"_Only my pride." He grinned. "Everyone forgot about it by the next day, or so I thought. See, Angelo Freeman had been sitting next to me. Real nasty bully with a long memory and a penchant for tormenting scrawny little kids like me. A year later, everyone in the class gets invited to a costume party for someone's birthday. Couldn't tell you who now, but I do remember Angelo walking up to me on the playground and asking if I was going to the party, all friendly. I should've taken more notice, since most of our interactions involved him trying to flush my head in a toilet, but the copper instincts didn't kick in until puberty started." _

_He heard the smile in her reply. "So, did you go?"_

"_Oh, yes," he said with a tight smile. "I show up in my homemade Superman costume, and there's Angelo. He spots me and gives me this really nasty smile before pulling on one of those horror-movie clown masks. Starts walking toward me. I just bolted, ran out the front door. He came outside after me. So I'm looking around the front lawn, desperate at this point, because I know I'll be grounded for the rest of my life if I cross the street by myself or leave the yard without an adult. There's a big oak tree on the far side of the lawn, and I just run over to it and start climbing, cape and all. Stupid thing kept getting stuck in the branches, but my priority was getting away from the scary clown. I went almost all the way up, so I was actually moving when the branches blew in the breeze. Angelo stood down at the bottom yelling at me to come down so he could eat my brains, but he was a big kid, not too coordinated, so I knew I was fine as long as I stayed up there. Which I did for the next two hours until my mom came to pick me up."_

_Andy was quiet for a moment; when she did speak, he heard her voice wavering with amusement. "Where did you get a cape?"_

"_Red towel and a couple of safety pins," Sam admitted._

_He reveled in the sound of the warm laughter that followed. He'd missed it more than he'd realized._

_Each night, he told her a different story, always something that had scared him. Sarah's deadened eyes when she'd come home from the hospital after being attacked; how it felt the first time he'd taken one in the vest; the look on the face of the first person he'd killed as the body crumpled to the ground. She'd started inching closer gradually, until it no longer seemed unusual for her to sprawl out on her stomach along his side, chin perched on his shoulder as his hand brushed over her spine. He could see her through the glass wall that remained between them; he just needed to shatter it._

"_It came in waves for me. After Brennan."_

_She pushed herself up to look at him. They'd never talked about this; she'd disappeared to Temagami the next day, and it hadn't exactly been a priority upon her return. As time had elapsed, it seemed more distant and less relevant to where they were._

"_The first week was fine. Autopilot and painkillers, not a bad combination. And then I was in the grocery store and saw grapefruit juice in the refrigerator case. Shouldn't have meant anything, but I left a full basket sitting there and was home before I realized I'd walked and left the truck in the parking lot."_

_He felt her breath catch. "How'd you deal with it?"_

"_Good days were good days," he said softly, looking up at her hairline as he ran a couple of fingers along it. "Bad days… I punched things." He involuntarily flexed his left hand, remembering the agony of its harsh collision with the kitchen wall when the brace had been off for less than 24 hours. "Drove around a lot. All night, one time. Decent radio and bad coffee. And soon… there just weren't as many, and then they were gone."_

_She opened her mouth to speak, but then cupped his face with one hand and pressed her lips to his. He froze, expecting her to pull back, but she deepened the kiss, her hands reaching around toward the back of his head. He moved slowly, followed her lead, tried not to think about how much he'd missed this. She flipped onto her back, pulling him with her so that he rested above her, her hands making their way down his sides toward the hem of his shirt and sliding it upward._

_He broke the kiss long enough to look at her for confirmation. "Yeah?" he whispered._

_She nodded wordlessly, urging the cotton up further. He pulled away to lift the shirt up over his head, discarding it to the side. He looked down at her, hair fanned out behind her head, a nervous smile on her lips. "You're beautiful," he murmured._

_Her hands moved toward the front of her pajama top – cupcakes this time – and slowly loosened each button, shaking slightly. With a deep breath, she slipped the shirt off her shoulders, her eyes locked with his. "Still?"_

_The burns had long healed and the scars they'd left behind were beginning to fade, but the lacy translucent circles along her skin were still visible in the moonlight. He carefully brushed over each one with his fingers, then his lips. He felt her sharp intake of breath as he moved; when he was finished, he pulled himself up to meet her eyes._

"_Always."_

* * *

She insisted on cleaning up the kitchen: "You cooked, it's only fair." Sam heard water running and the contents of the dishwasher clatter as he settled on the couch, flipping on the TV.

Andy walked into the room, dropping down beside him and resting her head on his shoulder. "Anything good?"

"Pickings are slim." He continued moving through channels until Andy said, "Wait, wait. Go back. I like that movie."

He turned back to the previous channel; it was the British one with the Indian girl who wanted to play soccer. "You've seen this about a thousand times."

"I know. It's good."

"You own the DVD."

"But if it's already on…"

He rolled his eyes, putting the remote control down and stretching an arm across her shoulder. It wasn't as if he really cared; with her this close, it was generally hard to pay attention to much else anyway. (Even if he could pretty much recite this stupid movie verbatim.)

When it ended, he turned off the television, continuing to run his thumb along her shoulder. "So. Tomorrow."

She sighed. "Tomorrow."

"Onward and upward."

"Something like that."

He tilted his head to look at her. "You scared?"

"No." She smiled. "I mean… you'll be there."

He kissed her. "That I will."

She pulled away and stood, holding a hand out to him.

"Where are we going?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

She gestured toward the stairs with her head. "You know. Onward and upward." He leaned forward with a grin and took her hand, allowing her to pull him to his feet.

"Lead the way."


End file.
